


The Hypocrite

by TwoCatsTailoring



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoCatsTailoring/pseuds/TwoCatsTailoring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just after the Sector 7 plate drop, There's a lot for Rude to sort out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hypocrite

No. No this was not possible. Rude would not permit this to be an option, to be actually happening. But the goggles in his hand, strap snapped and one lens gone completely were telling a very different story.

And here he stood, hung from his own stomach by a viscous meat-hook of fear and pain, trapped for a solid minute with absolutely nothing in his head except the word no.

Over and over.

_No. No. No, no, no._

What kind of fucked up goddess, what kind of mindless churning life-force got it’s rocks off ripping everything in his life that he actually cared about out by the roots? What kind of perverse higher power did that kind of shit to any human being? 

First in a long list was the lack of a father in his life. Not that it made a lot of difference or that Rude ever felt the lack - he’d had one hell of a backup after all - but in the great line of removals, why not start with the first slap that happened even before the doctor had slapped his newborn ass? That was as good a place as any.

Then, when he’d gotten settled and comfortable and knew where his life was going, his mother. Torn from his life, the best of friends a guy could have gone because some fucking fatass waste of oxygen could have his petty revenge.

Then, just when he was thinking this might not be such a bad life, when he was getting comfortable with being good at being the Cleaner, it happened again. And that time stung extra because he’d learned then what real love was and what it felt like, how it made you so safe and so vulnerable at the same time. And Chelsea? Chelsea was dead. Dead as dead could get and he didn’t even have a particular spot to mourn her, to place flowers, cry, rail at the cosmos. Dead and gone and taking closure with her.

He stopped getting comfortable then. Or thought that he had, surrounded by the people that were his family now, his partners, a handful of lovers. The Turks because his Turks and even if he never had any sort of jurisdiction over any of them they were his and he loved them all. Only to have them taken away too. Most still lived, none were accessible anymore for laughs, jobs, support, reality checks. Nobody could hide like a Turk and he had no hopes of ever seeing any of them again.

Save for Reno. Reno, who never took those stupid goggles off except to shower. Reno who’s goggles were now in a debris field a mile from his last known location. Reno, who’s name was out of his mouth as a hoarse whisper, his own fist tightening around the gaiadamned  _goggles_ that his partner only used as a headband for his fucking idiotic hair.

"Rude," the measured voice, chill and calm, of the only other one who was left. Tseng, whom no one confided in because it would do no good. He still seemed to know, have a sixth sense though. "We have to move. Time is of the essence if we want to get him out alive."

And so they ran. Shoving aside emotions that wold do no good, scaling debris piled ever higher the closer they got, over hard going, sliding, falling, first-respondeners following in their wake on the search for the living and the dead.


End file.
